


and his home is far

by swingsetjunkie



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swingsetjunkie/pseuds/swingsetjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game post-Haven, as told from the point of view of Commander Cullen. Includes spoilers for pretty much the entire game, some divergence from canon, and a lot of crippling self-doubt. Cullen is a strong man, but he is not invincible; perhaps no one knows that as intimately as the Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and his home is far

**Author's Note:**

> tbh i'm not even sure where i'm going with this or if i can characterize cullen properly (i always have this impression that he's emotionally stunted until after haven, and even then he only develops _true feelings about things_ later on because he's loath to trust anything after his past experiences) but i REALLY NEED to write this because i have way to many ideas for these two dumb nerds. also! i'm referring to the inquisitor as ellana (the default lavellan name); she's a dalish mage who's the like ultimate paragon-choice, teary-eyed-reaction-choice inquisitor, though i suppose she'll throw a few purple barbs in the conversation sometimes.

Cullen watches the weight of the world fall on her shoulders; watches as she buckles, stumbles, but does not fall, instead taking the blade presented to her with something like reverence. He does not hear what she says, at the top of the staircase, but he can see her determination in the way she stands, feet braced against the weight (of the world, of the Inquisition, of the sword that seems to be twice her size), head held high.

She turns to the crowd after a moment, hears the cheers and shouts (her eyes widen, shocked at the acclaim- she has never called herself a believer), and it is then that he swears to himself to serve- to serve and protect, because she cannot do this alone. So he draws his sword and salutes, wills all of Skyhold to do the same; when they do, she draws herself up, salutes them in return, and Cullen hopes, prays, that this is enough.

He doesn’t know her as well as he feels he should; perhaps he’s kept himself away from her on purpose, perhaps he just hasn't been paying enough attention. Either way, she almost died in Haven- almost died so that he, and the rest of the Inquisition, could get out alive. Cullen has not been a religious man since Kirkwall, but he cannot help but think that her survival was divine providence. When she stumbled into camp, frostbitten and chilled and gone pale with cold, he had chanted the Chant of Light for the first time in years.

She makes people do the impossible by simply existing, Cullen decides. Perhaps it’s because she’s the Herald; personally, Cullen attributes her successes to the strength of her character, the steadfast good he can see behind the rift-green of her eyes, the fluttering sound of her laughter even when it seems that nothing is quite going right. Months ago he would have scoffed at the idea of following this woman; now, it is all he can imagine himself doing. He has devoted himself to this cause like nothing else- like nothing he ever will.

It is a lot to contemplate, and Cullen leaves the courtyard with a heavy heart, because everything that he has devoted himself to in the past has turned to dead, grey ash.

\- - -

Ellana finds him when she needs him, holed up in his own tower in Skyhold. _Ellana_. Perhaps he is late in familiarity; everyone else, even Cassandra, gave up on calling the elf “Inquisitor” months ago. She often shows up when he’s finishing work or heading out to get dinner, small moments of conversation and companionship during his otherwise busy days. Most of their conversations are just that, conversations, but sometimes they ignite- they are perhaps a little too different to truly get along. Regardless, he respects her- she does a great deal more than he. Cullen wonders often how she does it; he asks her about it, one night, as they both sit down in the kitchens to enjoy tea before she sets out for the Hinterlands ( _again_ \- she seems obsessed with solving even the smallest disputes).

“You make all of this seem so easy,” he muses, settling down into a chair; she sits across the table from him, mug clasped in two hands as if to draw the warmth into her bones. Skyhold is by no means as cold as some of the other places she’s been- the Emprise being the coldest, he knows- but she always seems to be on the verge of shivering, birdbone hands and arms held tight to hold her warmth in.

He wants nothing more than to warm her, wrap her in soft furs and set her closer to the fire- but he puts that from his mind. He has been putting a lot from his mind, as of late; he is not unfamiliar with the process. Not unfamiliar at all. He supposes it's only natural to want to protect her; regardless, it is not entirely...appropriate.

“Trust me when I say I have less of an idea of what I’m doing than you do, Commander. At least half of the decisions I’ve made today have been spur-of-the-moment bullshit that managed to sound...inspirational,” she admits, and he can’t help but chuckle a bit at her put-upon expression. “You laugh, but I honestly have no idea what I’m doing here. Am I making the right choices? Can I really do what’s right for all these people? Sometimes….Sometimes I really don’t know.”

Cullen sets his mug down, steepling his fingers. “I do not envy you, Inquisitor. Not at all. You've been...you've been doing admirably. We would not be following you if you were not. Could you honestly say that people like Blackwall and Vivienne would follow someone they did not implicitly trust and respect? You do not ask others to do what you would not do yourself, which is more than I can say about a lot of people in similar positions.

“Don’t worry overmuch. Especially now- aren't you going back to Redcliffe tomorrow? What for, exactly? I heard something about a Ferelden Frostback, but I must have misheard,” he watches the tips of her ears redden at that, catches her eye before she can drop her gaze to the table. “Dragon killing wasn't in the resume, Inquisitor. I’m quite sure the Inquisition doesn't need a dragon head to hang in the Great Hall.”

She bristles at that, eyes flashing. “I’m not going after it as a trophy, Cullen! It’s attacked the Crossroads three times this past month, not including when it burned down the camp outside Lady Shayna’s Valley, and if I don’t take care of it, how can I expect other people to live there? Besides, didn't you just commend me on my _great ability_ to not ask others to do what I wouldn't do myself? Taking down a High Dragon is nothing compared to fighting hordes of Tevinter mages.”

“You could let me deal with it. I have the forces to take it down en masse- you going is taking “personal duty” a little too far, Inquisitor. You’re no use to us in the belly of a beast,” Cullen points out, taking a sip of his tea. The elf stares at him, eyes narrowed; she had placed her cup down during her tirade- he gestures for her to drink, and she does, if a bit suspiciously. “Besides, I thought you had plans to travel to the Western Approach before the word of this dragon reached you.”

“Because taking down a Venatori fortress is safer than taking down a dragon? Cullen,” she says disparagingly, “I have to do something. I can’t sit here on a throne and judge people, just like you can’t stay in your tower and make battle plans. That’s just not who I am- who we are. I knew that I wasn't going to be coddled or safe when I agreed to be Inquisitor.”

Cullen can count the freckles dusting her cheeks as she leans forward in her fervor, drawing him closer as if magnetized. “That doesn't mean you should go risking your life needlessly.”

“It’s not _needless_! Four people died, and a dozen more were burned, and if I don’t go then they’re going to think that I've abandoned them!” Her voice increases in volume as she speaks, as if to override his fears rather than convince him. “They need me to do these things, they need to see me take down impossible things because I’m supposed to be _someone_ , this Herald of Andraste, whoever that’s supposed to be!” The speech is familiar, rehearsed- if only because they have had this conversation at least three times in the past, almost verbatim; it never goes anywhere, both of them leaving unhappy and angry to do the duties that they are obligated to do.

“Do you want to be a martyr, then? You know that I have advised against missions like this, you know that it drives Leliana to a distraction when you vanish for days to go rescue puppies or whatever it is you do out in the field- “

“It’s good work! I may not know what I’m doing half the time, but even I can see how it eases them, how it makes them all feel safer to know that I’m out there doing things!”

“And what about how _I_ \- how we feel? What about your companions, Inquisitor? You know that we cannot carry on this effort without you.” Cullen almost trips over his own tongue, swallowing thoughts like bitter wine. He has overstepped, again, and he knows it; she hates when he brings up her potential martyrdom, when he hints that the Inquisition would be nothing without her- but he will not back down, just as he hasn't the last time they spoke of this. It always ends like this. Always-

He freezes as he sees her falter, so different than her usual response, and mentally rewinds his words- ah. He said it, then. A personal plea- a hint that perhaps she is more than just his commander, almost entirely inappropriate in its timing. It makes him feel awkward, like he's guilting her to stay for _him_ , and while something in his mind whispers _yes, yes, that's the reason_ , the rest of him is thinking of corpses strewn on a battlefield, a demon army raised, Corypheus unstoppable without her, without her Mark. He must always think of others; that is his job. It is not selfish to want the Herald to remain safe. It _isn't_.

“I’m…My apologies, Commander.”

Cullen almost grimaces; instead, he stands, pushing his chair out from the table. “I misspoke, milady. If you’ll excuse me, I have...things I must attend to. I did not realize that the hour had gotten so late.” He walks out to stunned silence, cursing himself, because if she goes out tomorrow and dies, this isn't quite how he wants to say goodbye.

He’s not sure what he’s doing anymore.

Sometimes, he wonders if he ever really knew.

 --- 

She leaves the next morning with Solas, Bull, and a very put-upon Cassandra (mostly his fault; he’d paid the Seeker a visit in the early morning, insisting that she go with her; with something like a smirk, she’s agreed, though Cullen somehow feels like he’s just being humored), mounted proudly on her Red Hart. He watches from the battlements, a sheaf of half-finished paperwork in hand; he almost drops them when she turns around to stare up at him directly, almost unnerving in her focus.

He raises a hand tentatively in farewell; to his intense gratification, she does so, as well- even if he can’t read her expression from such a distance, Cullen can read the exasperation in the motion, and he tucks a smile away as she turns. All may not be well between them- all will probably not be well until after she returns, but until then, he has work to do.

Cullen isn’t in Skyhold when she returns almost three weeks later, slightly charred but very alive (and in possession of a very impressive dragon skull, carted along on a massive litter to be hung in the Great Hall); he’s not even in Ferelden. Business called him to the Exalted Plains nearly three days prior; he had ridden out with a large contingent of men to personally overthrow the encroaching Venatori forces at the western ramparts.

He returns nearly two months after she does, sporting a large, bled-through bandage around his side and a non-permanent (though severe) limp; her rage is nearly incandescent when she sees him, and Cullen thinks (blearily, through the pain) that he has never seen anything quite so beautiful. He thinks he tells her this, though he doesn't quite remember. In fact, he hardly remembers anything for the week after his return save the glowing green of healing magic and raised voices.

When he finally comes to (six days later, he’s told), he’s resting in a room he doesn't recognize, surrounded on all sides by exhausted mages. Cullen counts Ellana, Solas, and Dorian among them; he even sees the fluttering of Vivienne’s cloak as she leaves, no doubt satisfied now that he has awakened. “What...happened?”

His eyes widen as Dorian restrains Ellana, who looks positively murderous- this is, perhaps, the angriest he has ever seen her. “You almost _died_ , you idiot, and I’m tempted to kill you _myself_ -”

“Now, now, dear, he’s only just woken, no need to shout-”

“Shut up, Dorian, I’m going to _kill_ him-”

“Which is exactly what we don’t need right now, having spent all this time healing him, hmm? I do believe the Commander is sorry for frightening us all- _isn’t he_?” There’s a dangerous edge to Dorian’s voice, something he hasn’t quite had the pleasure of hearing before- and hopes to never hear again, all things considered- and Cullen nods faintly, grimacing as the motion blurs his sight.

“My...apologies. I didn't realize...How did it happen? I don’t...I don’t remember."

Dorian looks slightly concerned at this; however, as he opens his mouth to reply, Ellana cuts him off. "A poisoned blade. Punctured a lung, then you were thrown from your horse. We estimated you had been in a fever for almost three days before you collapsed at the gates here in Skyhold. Your men said you charged into battle instead of staying back to direct the field like you were supposed to." her voice is cold. Icy. And Cullen is afraid- afraid that he has ruined what friendship he has managed to cultivate.

"I apologize, Inquisitor. I should have been more careful."

Ellana’s expression hardens as her struggles against Dorian increase; he starts pulling her out, towards the door, and the further towards it she gets the louder her voice grows, until she’s screaming at him. "More careful. _More careful_ , he says! Creators, Cullen, you almost died, and the most you can say is "I should have been more careful"? You directly disobeyed orders, put the lives of your soldiers in danger, almost got yourself killed in the process- what were you thinking, how could you do this to us- to _me_ -”

Dorian manages to drag her out before she can get further, though Cullen can hear her muffled cries of rage through the heavy wooden door. Solas steps forward, then, hands glowing green and soft. “Sleep, Commander,” he murmurs, quiet and soothing, and Cullen does.

Things are not the same after that. Cullen should have really expected it- nothing is ever quite as simple as he would like.

He returns to his duties after a few more days of recovery in what he learns is the Inquisitor’s own bedroom, repurposed into an emergency medical room after he and his battered forces returned to Skyhold. There were so many injured- so many dead- that the mages in Skyhold’s many mountain camps had been overwhelmed; the worst of the injured were sent into Skyhold itself, to get treated by the most powerful mages. To his bemusement, no one quite seems to blame Cullen for the masses of injured, if only because the mission succeeded- _in death, sacrifice_ , they murmur, that old Warden adage.

They tell him he did what was necessary; the Orlesians thank him for saving their position on the Exalted Plains. The injured declare their support; the mourners of the dead proclaim that their loved ones did their duty- that he had done his duty. Cullen is no stranger to war, knows what must be done to assure victory, but he can’t help but taste ash whenever he looks out his tower window, down to the hustle and rush of the medic camps in the courtyard; can’t quite meet the Inquisitor’s eyes in the war room, if only because he knows that she looks at him and thinks _hypocrite, useless_ , and he can’t bear it.

He can’t bear it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> a note on times/distances/travel:
> 
> i'm actually not solid on how large thedas/orlais/ferelden are but iirc it takes about 6 days to march (at a forced march pace- between 30/40 km a day) from haven to redcliffe (which puts a whole new spin on the "date at the lake scene") and about twelve to march from haven to orzammar, which is about the same distance from skyhold (which is further west, in the frostbacks) to the dales (where the exalted plains are located). thus, it should take about a month to march to the exalted plains and back, given that the army doesn't stop for long; given that cullen stuck around to fight, i tacked on a few days before they trekked back, and assumed that they trekked back at speed despite injuries. the events of dragon age: inquisition must have taken place over an EXTENDED period of time- dragon age: origins took place over a year and the warden only ever traveled in ferelden. ;;;;
> 
> you can find some travel times [here](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/ccc?key=0AoXSktbgaAXHdEJtcmRMaGxRSklMTE5GaEVsQUtsaUE&authkey=CLKtxsMK&hl=en_US&authkey=CLKtxsMK#gid=0>there</a>;%20i%20would%20also%20recommend%20taking%20a%20close%20look%20at%20thedas'%20geographical%20map%20<a%20href) and check out a map [here](http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20100721040624/dragonage/images/8/80/ThedasMap.jpg) to get a good idea of the distances involved. please note that there's no real scale for any of this; most of what i'm going by has been estimated by other people/estimated by myself, and is definitely up for debate.
> 
> if anyone has any suggestions/ideas, feel free to let me know!
> 
> also not solid on an update schedule for this (i'm...notoriously bad about them), but i'll be updating this at least semi-regularly!


End file.
